9 Candles on my cake.


9 Candles were on my last birthday cake,just one away from double digits .

9 Candles on my cake, one candle for each year.

9 Candles were lit, I could feel the heat of each of them.

9 Candles that punched 9 little holes in my cake.

9 Candles, not enough to light up the room, but plenty enough to light up my face.

9 Candles,nothing special and yet it gave me a sense of magic

9 Candles I had to blow out,my mother told me to make a wish

9 Candles ,their flames extinguished slowly one by one 

They slowly extinguished , very much like the fire in my soul.

I am Ernest Frydman I was born in Paris on May 7th, 1933.

9 Candles I had to blow out, my mother told me to male a wish.

My wish to have a cake with 10 Candles next year did not come though.

I was murdered in August 1942 in Auschwitz.

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